Unfurl
by tectrices
Summary: pre Ann x Leslie.  Ann's never really thought of Leslie in a romantic way, but the more people who confuse them for a couple the more Ann's starting to wonder if there's something there she just hasn't noticed yet.


"How long have you two been together?"

Ann coughs, half the swallow she'd been taking down her windpipe. "What?" she asks, one hand resting gingerly at the base of her throat. "You mean... You mean me and Leslie?" She points over to where Leslie's talking to Donna and April. She notices, of course and waves. Ann flushes and raises a hand up to her shoulder in response.

The bartender clears her throat and nods when Ann's attention is back to her. "Yeah, you and the little blonde. You two seem really happy together."

"Well we are happy, but we're not. We're not together, not. _Together_." Ann presses her lips together and looks down at her drink. She was going to refrain but suddenly her glass is looking awfully empty and maybe it's a good idea to have just one more. "I'm not gay. Totally not gay. Leslie and I are just best friends."

"Best friends?" The bartender raises an eyebrow and gives Ann a smirk that makes her roll her shoulders up, heat unfurling in her cheeks. "What are you, in eighth grade?" She gives Ann another look and Ann's mood sours, because there are enough problems already with people assuming things about her and Leslie. She doesn't need someone she doesn't even know making presumptions, too. "Sorry," she says finally. Ann nods and smiles tightly, one hand on her glass. "Guess it was my mistake."

It shouldn't bother her, but she can't get it out of her head. It's _one_ opinion; that's all. She's not offended, just. Unsettled. And she can't quite put her finger on why. It's one thing, of course, for people to joke - for people who know them, who know how close they are, to make the leap - over a really narrow gap, she'll admit - from friends to loves. But for someone completely outside - and without the benefit of a really masculine haircut this time - to make the assumption? Ann's only practical experience with bartenders was her friend Miranda in college, but if all the TV and movies she's seen is anything to go by, they're supposed to be pretty objective.

"Something wrong?" Leslie asks, coming up beside her. She looks happy, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, her face pink and her eyes bright.

"Oh... No! No, nothing's wrong, Leslie, it's just." She looks down at the bar and laughs. It's not really something she can explain, can she? And Leslie looks like she's having such a good time, Ann doesn't want to bother her with some silly comments someone made. Leslie would probably laugh; she might even be _flattered_, someone assuming that she was with someone like Ann. And wouldn't that be just like Leslie? Ann smiles, wondering again what she did to deserve having a Leslie Knope in her life.

"Just what, Ann?" Leslie plops down beside her, putting her elbows up on the bar. "Jam session, come on. You need me to take care of someone? Because." She lowers her voice, leaning in close to Ann, her cheek against her shoulder, and Ann feels her heartbeat stutter. "You can't tell anyone this, but I may know up to twenty ways to incapacitate a man using common household objects." She licks her lips and her eyes dart off to her left before going back to Ann. "I read an article on the internet."

It's involuntary, and a little surprising, but Ann laughs. She covers her mouth with one hand, quickly, and Leslie looks so sincere, like she really would use something like a toaster to try to protect a friend. "Oh Leslie," she says. "I, um. No, please don't. Please don't try to shank anyone with a straw."

"I could do it, Ann," she says, sitting up straight. She looks so serious Ann is put off for a second, like she really believes that she's some sort of straw-ninja just because she found a - really questionable, Ann thinks - site on the internet.

It hits her, then, even with all her protestations - to herself, to other people - that maybe what she feels for Leslie, this spike of heat, this warm rush of affection threading its way through her, is more than just platonic. She's not ready to say what that feeling _is_, she's not sure she'll ever be - but she lets herself enjoy it when she sends Leslie off to dance, her fingers landing feather-light on the inside of her wrist before squeezing gently.

Leslie's really pretty, and more than really kind, and Ann feels a pressure in her chest like she might burst, like there is more feeling there than she can understand, than she can even put a name, too. She feels a little self-conscious, too; her skin is too sensitive and her breasts feel heavy underneath her shirt. It's. It's really just arousal, she knows, and the thought that _Leslie_ inspired it makes her breath catch.

But there's nothing she can do about it, not now, so she just orders another rum and coke and watches her friend dance from across the bar.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


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